Swallowing My Pride

Readers, please keep in mind that this story is 101% fictional. In real life no man is better than the other, and nobody is entitled to treat other people cruelly.

This story contains sexual acts (domination, submission, humiliation, oral sex, masturbation) between young males. If you don't like it, or it is illegal in your country, state or community, please stop reading it immediately.

Thanks to Naughty Bard for proofreading the text.

“That shit I did to you in junior high.”

He hesitated before continuing, and I really, really hoped he would say he was sorry, because that would´ve been a huge relief for me. I had tried hard to hate Brett since that day, but I had such a serious crush on him that it drowned all my efforts of loathing him.

But then he simply said:

“You totally had it coming.”

My heart sank. The only thing I was able to say without choking was a meek:

“Why?”

It took him a few seconds to come up with an answer.

“You were trespassing in my locker room. Haven´t heard you apologize for that.”

I couldn’t stop myself, I wanted so much to leave behind that painful memory.

“I´m sorry, Brett,” I said.

That brought a little smirk on his face.

“Apology accepted,” he said and walked away.

* * * *

Josh´s campaign party was a huge success and the talk of the school for the whole week before election day. Those who hadn´t been there were briefed with detailed descriptions of the luxurious venue, generous selection of food and alcohol and stories and rumors about all the uninhibited teen sex that took place in the cabins available for horny participants.

The aftermath caused a bandwagon effect among undecided voters, and everybody could feel Josh´s popularity growing day by day.

Yet everybody was stunned when the outcome of the tally was declared:

“Josh Everton 327 votes, Jenna Summers 221 votes, 28 blank ballots.”

Josh had won by a landslide. And he had won because of my intelligence, creativity and determination.

After becoming school president Josh seemed to have grown even taller and cockier. When he strutted in the hallways other students greeted him excitedly, like he was some head-of-state or shit. Every now and then he was approached by kids who asked for his help in this or that matter and he always listened to them with a little condescending smile. Afterwards they thanked him profusely for his help. I half expected them to kiss his ring.

At their first meeting the new school council discussed about their action plan for the upcoming school year. When the plan was published, I noticed immediately that something was missing: the Tolerance Week in April (that was the officially approved name instead of the proposed Pride Week). Josh had replaced Tolerance Week with a new action week called ´Proud of our Wildcats´. The school would celebrate and worship our football team and, of course, the players themselves for an entire week.

While Josh ruled the hallways, his wing-man Brett was excelling on the field. His teamwork with Josh, the quarterback, was as perfect as ever but Brett had become more daring and independent. He would surprise the opposing team´s defense by pretending to pass the ball to Josh in the middle of his run but at the last second he would change his direction, continue with the ball himself and score a marvelous touchdown. It worked brilliantly, as the opposing defense had no way to predict what Brett was going to do.

It was easy to see that while Josh always rushed to hug Brett after the touchdown he was pissed by his main man´s newly found independence. Because, you see, Josh had an embarrassing problem: he had become slower and sloppier himself. Everybody could see that Brett was the faster and bolder of the two on the field.

In a recent interview by the local sports media Josh had hinted about some necessary changes in the forward roster. Everyone in the know, knew he meant replacing Brett with a new starting running-back, someone whose main task would be to assist Josh´s success and brush his ego. Josh´s dad was the main sponsor of the team, so it was obvious Brett´s position was in real danger despite his importance for the team.

Once when I was about to give him head I felt bold enough to ask Brett about the situation.

“What are you gonna do about it, man? Josh is clearly coming after you. His dad´s money carries a long way in this town,” I said while unbuttoning his jeans.

“His daddy´s money won´t keep him out of trouble forever, if he doesn’t stop snorting that shit. Now, stop asking fucking questions and suck me off,” he grunted.

Josh doing drugs? Interesting, I thought, but didn´t dare to ask more about it.

* * * *

Whenever the Wildcats had a home game, I was there. I even joined a fan bus a couple times to watch them play away. I was genuinely excited about the game and cheered on our team vigorously, but just as exciting was the opportunity to drool over the athletes.

After the final whistle I always moved to the exit that led to the teams´ dressing rooms. I loved to watch the sweaty jocks parade in front of the audience in their dirty uniforms. They were exhausted, but never too exhausted to present themselves as desirable as possible to the herds of girls waiting for them. I was there too, eager to drink in their shining abs exposed by rolled-up shirts, bulging biceps and hard buttocks swinging inside sweat-soaked tight pants.

Josh, the captain, always lingered on the pitch, letting most of his teammates go first. And when he finally strutted towards the tunnel, helmet in his hand and sleeves pulled all the way up over his hard-trained biceps, the girls´ chirping grew louder. But to Josh´s annoyance and my elation, the excitement grew even stronger when Brett approached the herd of fans. Many girls cupped their mouths with their hands in excitement: “It´s Brett … he´s coming!”

Brett always stopped for a moment to chat with his fans, his shirt rolled all the way up to his chest, showing off his tanned eight-pack that was shining from sweat in the bright lights. He received quick hugs and kisses on his cheek, before apologizing about having to join his mates. But before turning away he always took off his wristband and the bandanna holding his unruly black locks at bay and handed them to the hottest girls in the crowd with a wink.

Brett had also started publishing video clips on TikTok and quickly gained 12 000 followers in a few months. I followed him too with my secret account and often jerked off to his clips showing him at the gym, in his underwear in the locker room or goofing around shirtless with his friends.

By then, I had become obsessed with Brett. I loved him deeply even though he wasn´t loving me back.

Brett expected me to be always on call for him as his cocksucker and servant. Whenever he needed to get his rocks off and couldn´t find a suitable female for that purpose, he would turn to me. I sucked him off in the woods, in his car, in the backyard of their house and in their boat. He always made sure no-one saw him pick me up in his car. He’d tell me to wait for him at a gas station or behind a liquor store or some other dim corner of our town.

He would fuck my mouth, call me names and curse me for not serving him well enough and dump his load into my mouth. I´d swallow his cum, clean his dick and zip up his pants while he arranged his hair and checked his phone for messages. Then we would drive back to town while he chatted with his friends and he would stop for a few seconds to let me out at some street corner. I´d get out of the car and he would take off without a word.

The way he treated me made me feel like a whore. Well, I guess I was one, with the exception that I didn´t get paid for my services.

Once I got to visit their house. Brett had inherited his big brother´s room after Case left for college. It was a real man-cave, a large suite with a private entrance at an annex behind their big, rambling house. His parents were always busy working in their trucking business. His mom was a proud woman who administered the company finances but also jumped behind the wheel of a ten-wheeler whenever necessary. They had household help too, but Brett was expected to do his own chores in exchange for the new fancy living arrangement.

One day his mom had paid a rare surprise visit to his room and exploded when she saw the mess. She gave Brett an ultimatum. He had 24 hours to turn the shithole back into the clean and presentable suite it had been when he took over or move back to the main house.

Well, guess who got invited for a visit. I spent an entire Saturday afternoon picking up trash and dirty clothes off the floor, dusting, vacuuming and mopping while the washing machine worked with Brett´s laundry in the basement while he played video games.

When I was done ironing his shirts, he seemed to notice me again. He picked a porn clip from his computer and streamed it on the big screen. Then he snapped his fingers and pointed at a spot on the floor. I got down on my knees in the cramped space between his chair and the desk and pulled his shorts and boxers down. Then I waited while he watched his porn clip and jacked his cock. After a minute he had produced a full hard-on with precum oozing from the slit. Then he got up and started to taunt me.

“You´re such a faggot, Billy. Look at you, down on your knees on my floor, waiting for my cock. You love my cock, don´t you, Billy? But I´m not gonna give it to you yet.”

Then he used his cock to spread precum on my face, starting from the forehead and moving down to my cheeks, lips and chin.

“Now you look like a true faggot, hehehehe!” He said and showed me my disgraced face on the screen of his phone.

Brett was right. He could produce a ton of precum, and I was looking at my young face covered with a layer of sticky, sour-smelling teen boy slime.

“Look at that, Billy. Only a faggot can look like that. You agree?”

“Yeah.”

“That´s a good homo. Now suck me off.”

With that he grabbed a fistful of my hair, stuffed his dick into my mouth and started to fuck my face. I knew his sensitive spots by then and rubbed the space behind his sack and squeezed my lips as tight as possible when the crown was passing through.

There was little space for my own pleasure; touching my own dick while pleasing him was strictly forbidden, so I just touched and caressed his strong legs and hard buttocks, enjoying the feeling of power and virility they radiated.

And then he emptied his balls into my mouth and let go of my hair. The rest was routine: after panting for a minute he stuck his dick back into my mouth for cleaning. Then I could get up and clean my face in the bathroom. He was checking his social media when I came back.

“I guess I´m off now, Brett. See you later.”

“Yeah.”

I should break myself free from Brett, I thought many times on my way home from those appointments, feeling used, dirty and exhausted. Maybe I could find someone else like him, another alpha male who needed someone to serve his sexual needs? Someone as handsome and popular and cocky as Brett, but also caring and reasonable. Did guys like that exist? Probably not, I told myself. Besides, I could never be disloyal to Brett, I thought.

Until I met Nash.

* * * *

Brett could act like a friend if he wanted, although that didn´t happen often. A couple of times he had saved me from awkward situations at school, like one afternoon when I was surrounded by some junior bullies behind the lockers and Brett happened to walk by. He walked over, looked at the main punk in the eyes for a few seconds and said in his raspy voice:

“He´s off limit, guys.”

Just like that, without raising his voice. The bullies apologized like little sheep and dispersed at once.

But Brett was also totally unpredictable.

One day in August I had been watching their team´s first practice of the upcoming season. When they finished, Brett stayed behind at the parking lot to chat with some aspiring junior players who dreamed about becoming as brilliant and popular as him. He was leaning on his vintage Corvette still in his jersey, his sweaty black locks glued on his forehead, sleeves rolled up to show off his muscles.

He kept joking with a group of boys, bathing in their admiration. Then he saw me walking by.

“Billy, come over and say hello to my boys.”

The boys watched as I walked over, not knowing what to expect. I stood in front of Brett, but he just watched me with a smirk without saying anything for a long time. Then he pulled the sleeve of his jersey up to his shoulder blade and flexed his bicep.

“Listen, guys. When you work hard and succeed in the game, you´ll get respect from other kids. Shitloads of respect. Everybody looks up to you. Like Billy here. Billy´s a pussy and a coward who couldn´t tell a football from his teddy-bear. But he´s smart and he knows what´s good for him. He respects guys who are stronger and cooler than himself.”

The boys stared at me, barely believing how Brett was talking about me while I stood there listening. But the delighted smirks on their faces showed that they loved what they were hearing. And they wanted to hear more.

Brett tapped his bicep with his finger.

“Show the boys how much you love me, Billy. Give my gun a little kiss.”

I stepped closer and leaned in to kiss his bulging muscle to the rejoice of the younger kids.

“That´s a good boy, Billy.” Brett said, like talking to his dog.

“It feels good, guys, wimps showing you respect. Wanna try it yourself?”

“Fuck yeah!” was the unanimous reply from the younger boys.

“You do? Well, come on then, show Billy some muscle!”

One by one the guys revealed and flexed their biceps. I walked over to the group, trying to smile like worshiping younger boys´ upper arms at a parking lot was the most natural thing in the world to do.

The first dude was burly and unattractive, a defense for sure, and I could smell his unwashed body when I pressed my lips on his bicep, trying to aim as far from his hairy armpit as possible.

My performance was greeted by laughter and catcalls.

The next one was a skinny kid who offered his wiry arm to me with a giggle. I gave a kiss on his small but hard bicep and moved to the next one.

Next in line was a handsome dude with a runner´s body. He kept his shining black hair tied in a short ponytail. He looked at me with a shit-eating grin.

“Show some love to my boy JD, Billy,” Brett instructed me.

“Go on pussy-boy, do your thing,” JD said.

He was so tall I had to stand on my toes to smooch the tanned, well-developed muscle.

“Ready for some love, Nash?” Brett asked.

I looked at the last boy who was leaning on the passenger door of Brett´s Corvette like a fucking co-owner. He looked stunning. A full head of strawberry-blonde hair flowed from under his backwards-turned NFL hat almost down to his shoulders. A beautiful, spotless baby-face, snow-white even teeth and full lips that were twisted in a smirk that was in stark contrast with his angelic looks.

The left side of his neck looked pretty un-angelic, too. Someone had sucked and chewed it all the way to his shoulder. Nash hadn´t decided to wear a revealing tank-top by chance, he wanted to show off his hickeys as trophies just like the two thick silver chains around his neck and the golden studs in his ears.

Nash didn´t offer his arm for me to worship at first, he just looked at me with that smirk of his for a long time.

“Can I make a guess, Brett?” He asked.

“Shoot,” Brett said with a grin.

“Billy doesn´t have a girlfriend.”

Brett cracked up and so did Nash and his friends.

“Billy? A girlfriend? Hahahahaa, would love to see that one. No Nash, fags ain´t got girlfriends.”

“That´s what I thought, man,” Nash said, still laughing at his own pun.

Then he raised his arm and flexed his bicep. He clearly had spent some time pumping iron.

“Show me a shitload of respect then, gay boy.”

I leaned closer and gave his bicep a kiss. But Nash hadn´t had enough fun with me yet.

He placed his free hand on the back of my head and pressed it tighter against his upper arm. I lost my balance and had to support myself on his hard belly, and my mouth hit his arm very close to his pit. The bite-marks on his shoulder filled my vision.

“Not good enough, dude. Try again!”

I gave his muscle another kiss, but he didn´t let go of my head, he kept pressing it on his upper arm and I felt his pit hairs tickle my cheek.

“What the fuck? He doesn´t wanna stop smooching my gun, can´t get enough of it. Let go, dude, you can stop now! Help me guys, get him off me!”

And the other guys rewarded his performance with roaring laughter.

Nash pretended to be struggling to push me away while he in fact held my head in a tight vice. The pressure on my head made my face side-slip all the way to his armpit that sprouted some surprisingly black hair. Instinctively I breathed in, and the strong mixture of his mint-scented deodorant and boy-sweat made me dizzy. I couldn´t resist the opportunity to stick my tongue out to get a taste of those silky black hairs while trying desperately to keep my loins apart from his so he wouldn´t notice the hardon raging in my pants.

Finally he let go of me and ruffled my hair.

“Just joking, Billy. No hard feelings, yeah?” he said with a friendly smile, looking me in the eyes with those sincere blue eyes.

“Yeah. Of course not, I can always take a little joke,” I smiled back and patted his bare shoulder.

Wow! He almost apologized for making fun of me! Brett would never do that, I thought, picking some of Nash´s armpit hair from my mouth.

“Well, how was it, boys? Did you like it?” Brett asked with a wide grin.

“Fuck yeah!” The chorus of aspiring football jocks confirmed.

“That´s what I thought. Now, fuck off Billy, we´ve got men business to talk about here.”

What an asshole he could be, I fumed as I walked away. Once again he had humiliated me publicly just for fun and to show other kids what kind of power he possessed over me. And because of him, some of my fellow wimps in another school would be kissing some jock-biceps in the first recess of the semester.

But I couldn´t get Nash out of my mind. He had made fun of me and humiliated me almost like Brett, but there was something different in the way he treated me: something boyishly mischievous, even funny. I liked his sense of humor. Maybe he had a little respect for me because I was his senior? Maybe we could even become friends?

When I closed my eyes the following night I saw his beautiful face, bright blue eyes and those luscious lips that seemed to be permanently twisted in a cocky sneer. And I saw his neck and shoulder that some lucky girl had sucked and chewed in the heat of passion when that teen buck had fucked her with all the power of his athletic body.

And the bulging bicep I had been ordered to kiss to acknowledge his superiority in public. How I had loved it despite pretending to be reluctant. The way his smooth skin felt against my lips, and how his sweat tasted when I dared to stick my tongue out to steal a little masculinity. And the odor of his mint-scent deodorant that wafted into my nostrils from his hairy armpit, pure torture!

The memory of Nash was more than sufficient material for my nightly jack-off sessions, but I dreamed of seeing him again. Just to watch and adore him, hear him laugh and be the object of his teasing. But I knew that wasn´t going to happen.

I was wrong.

* * * *

A couple of weeks later I got a text from Brett.

Brett: need u tmr

Billy: whassup 🙄

Brett: trainin w jd/nash 🦾

Brett: need u to lock up gym

Billy: what time 👀

Brett: 11

Billy: yessir 😐

I arrived at the gym soon after 10 hoping to watch the boys sweat with their workout. Brett and JD barely noticed my arrival, but Nash greeted me with a fist-bump and continued chatting with me during the little pauses between moving from a position to another.

He even asked me to spot for him at the bench, and I got to watch at a close distance as his muscles worked to pump that iron up and down, up and down. After his set was complete, he got up and slumped on the bench and panted, wiping his face with a little gym towel. Then he seemed to remember something.

“Fuck, I forgot to wipe off that fucker. Do me a favor and clean it for me Billy, I feel kinda lazy.”

It might seem like an odd thing to assume that another guy would clean a weight bench after you, but I went to grab a bottle of sanitizer and some paper. I even felt kinda important wiping Nash´s sweat off the bench and handlebar.

I happened to glance towards Brett, who was close by adding more weight to the bar he was about to start lifting. I could see from the expression on his face that he didn´t like what he was seeing. Well, fuck you Brett, I´ve got more important things to do right now than worrying about your feelings, I smiled to myself.

After that Nash didn´t even bother to ask me to clean the equipment. When he was done, I was already there with the sanitizer and paper.

Brett finished his workout set early as planned and took me aside.

“Remember, this place needs to be empty and cleaned by twelve when the Coach comes for his workout. He thinks he owns this fucking place.”

“That´s no problem because I need to take my grandpa to the doctor´s. Need to get going at least an hour before that.”

“Good. And Billy, just for your own good, watch out with those two, willya,” he said and left.

I smiled to myself. Brett giving me paternal advice all of a sudden, or is he jealous of me perhaps? I thought with amusement.

At 11:10 I clapped my hands and called out:

“Okay guys, time´s up!”

Nash and JD glanced at my direction briefly but continued their post practice warm down on exercise bikes.

Ten minutes later I went to check up with them, and they were still pedaling, chatting with each other.

I clapped my hands vigorously.

“Okay guys, time´s up! Haul your asses over here!”

The guys looked at me and seemed to be chuckling. I decided to give them a couple of minutes slack just to avoid confrontation.

Then I went back and saw them sitting on the floor, chatting and flipping their phones without a care in the world. I felt furious. They knew I was responsible for locking up after them and they seemed to pay no attention whatsoever to my instructions.

I marched to the office and grabbed a coach whistle I had noticed hanging on the wall. I had never used one, but I went back to the gym, stuck the whistle between my lips, filled my lungs and let go as hard as I could. The shrill whistle startled me, but it also caught the attention of Nash and JD. They were staring at me with their mouths open.

They lingered yet another five minutes but finally gathered their belongings and swaggered to the locker room. I held the door open for them.

“Sorry to rush you guys, but I´ve gotta lock up soon and I thought you might wanna shower first.” I said, with the whistle hanging off my neck to add up to my authority.

The boys pushed past me without a word.

“I´m gonna lock up in twenty minutes, so better start moving, fellas,” I said.

No reaction whatsoever from the boys.

“I think I´m gonna take a nice, long shower. How about you?” JD asked, stripping down to his yellow Hollister boxer briefs.

“Same plan here, bro. Let´s just cool off for a while and then take a badass shower,” Nash drawled.

He seemed to have some trouble removing the tight-fitting, sweat-soaked shirt he was wearing, and I watched his upper body being exposed to me like in a slow-motion video. His trimmed, slim body was like a magnet for my hungry eyes, there seemed to be zero ounce of fat.

Then he pulled down his shorts and kicked them roughly towards his gym bag. His skin-tight, knee-length white Nike compression trunks left little room for imagination. The thin fabric was translucent, save a double layer of fabric covering his private parts. And from the outline I could see something mighty hiding in there: a thick, long cock. It was big, bigger than Brett´s. Would I be able to fit than one into my mouth, if necessary?

And then, as if wanting to torture the poor gay boy sitting right in front of him, Nash used the shirt to get rid of excess sweat. He used it to wipe his forehead and face, then neck and chest, and down to the mounds of his sixpack and navel. He even stretched down the waistband of his shorts and rubbed the shirt on a surprisingly thick bush of black pubes. Finally he wiped his hairy armpits and tossed the shirt on the bench. At that point I glanced up and blushed as I saw he had been observing me with a little smirk.

“Like what you see, billy-no-girlfriend?” He asked and snickered as I blushed.

“Please hurry up, guys.” I tried again. Neither of them showed any interest to me.

Maybe I needed to justify my request?

“Look guys, I need to pick up my grandpa and take him to the doctor´s. That´s why I need you to get out.”

I knew I sounded like a schoolkid explaining to the teacher why he was late for class.

Trying to act cool I made the stupid move of tossing my car keys up in the air to show how nonchalantly I took their cocky attitude. But in my nervousness my third attempt to catch them failed and the keys dropped on the floor from where JD quickly snatched them.

I got up and extended my hand at JD, palm up.

“Gimme my car keys, man,” I said, but he just smiled, tossing them several times.

“JD, give me my car keys now,” I said, trying to sound determined, but my voice cracked and the boys snickered.

“Sure, just come and get them,” he said, stretched the waistband of his underwear and dropped the keys inside. I could see the outlines of my keys; they were safely nested next to his dick, resting on his plump ball sack.

“Please man, I really need those keys,” I pleaded, but JD just grinned at me.

“Mmmmm, this feels so good,” he said, rubbing his bulge.

Nash laughed at JD´s performance and that encouraged him to go on. He started to tap the remote with his fingers.

“Gotta try these buttons… buzzz… aaww… buzzzzz… ooooh!” He moaned and wriggled his loins, making Nash laugh like crazy.

It was a good show, but I wasn´t laughing.

“My grandpa needs to go to the….” I said with a shaky voice but it didn´t stop JD´s performance.

“Dude,” Nash said after a minute. His tone was commanding. I turned to look at him.

“Dude, you got it all wrong,” he said.

“Wrong? How?”

“You´re trying to act like you´re the fucking boss here.”

I decided to stand my ground.

“Well, I am the boss here. I mean, that´s what I´m here for.”

Nash sighed and pointed at the bench with his finger.

“Sit down, I wanna talk to you.”

Talk to me, not with me.

I sat down.

He took a gulp of water and sat down next to me, real close.

“Look at me.”

I turned to look at him. Our faces were mere four inches from each other.

“You´re missing some key facts here, Billy,” he said softly.

Then he took the shirt he was still holding in his hand and wiped his face, neck and armpits slowly with it. When he was done, he looked at me with a little condescending smile and hung the shirt around my neck. It was warm, wet and reeked of his sweat. Hanging it around my neck was a terrible insult of course, and I knew I should rip it off angrily and throw it on the floor, because if I didn´t, it would show him I didn´t have the guts to stand up to him. Well, I didn´t have the guts to do it, so I just sat there.

“Lemme explain something, man. We don´t take orders from you,” Nash said in a calm, confident manner.

“But I am supp…”

“Don´t interrupt me, Billy.” The sharp tone of his voice made me shut my mouth.

He went on.

“Authority is not about positions. It´s not about age or whether you´re a fucking senior or a fucking sophomore. It´s not about who´s got a fucking whistle.”

He paused for a minute to let his words sink in. Then he went on with his sermon.

“Guys like us, me and JD, we play football. It´s a tough fucking game. We fight man to man on the pitch against some mean fucking bad-asses. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose, but we never stop fighting. And Billy, we fuck girls. Girls let us fuck their brains out because they love it. Are you following me?”

I felt too ashamed to say anything so I just nodded.

“Have you ever played football, Billy?”

“No.”

“Ice hockey?”

“No.”

“Ever been in a fist fight?”

“No.”

He took another sip of water, gulped and continued his interrogation.

“Ever had sex with a girl?”

I had expected that question.

“No,” I said, looking down.

“Look at me, Billy.”

I raised my gaze to his ocean-blue eyes.

“Ever had sex with a girl?”

“No.”

“Planning to?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don´t like it.”

“Looking at a hot girl doesn´t make you horny?”

“No.”

“You like hot guys then?”

“Yeah,” I squealed.

“What does that make you, Billy?”

“Gay.”

He squeezed my shoulder.

“That´s right, Billy. You´re gay. Ho-mo-sex-u-al.”

He threw his arm around my shoulders and pulled me real close to him. I could feel his breath on my face, and his moist locks brushed against my cheek. He spoke directly into my ear, slowly and deliberately:

“Gay…. homo… fag… fairy… queer… faggot… whatever you wanna call it, that´s you, Billy.”

I had by then already gotten used to hearing myself being labeled with those words but coming from young Nash´s lips they still stung.

He let go of my shoulder and leaned back.

“But that´s okay, Billy. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, there´s nothing wrong with being a homo. We know lots of fags, don´t we JD?”

“We sure do, bro. Tons of fags,” JD confirmed.

I managed to smile a little. But Nash went on.

“Nothing wrong with being a homo unless you forget your place. And that´s what you did today, Billy. You forgot your place.”

“But I didn´t mean to…” I said, and it sounded like squeaking.

“Listen carefully,” Nash interrupted me, “You´re an okay guy, Billy. We like you, JD and me. But guys like us don´t take orders from fags. Ever. You don´t give us orders. It´s the other way around. Understand?”

I nodded.

“Understand?” He repeated.

“Yeah.”

“You do what we want from now on. That´s your place. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Yes…?”

“Yes… Sir.”

Nash chuckled and ruffled my hair.

“That´s awesome, Billy. Did you hear that, JD? Billy´s got the facts right now.”

“Smart kid,” JD commented.

“Do we have an understanding about how things work between us from now on?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.”

“Can I go now?” I asked timidly, and Nash couldn´t suppress a smile. He looked at JD.

“Waddya say, bro? Are we gonna give him permission to leave?”

JD pondered his decision with a smug smile.

“I think he should do something nice first.”

“Okay. What do you have in mind?”

“Something quick, please. I really gotta go,” I pleaded.

“Sure. This is real quick.”

He paused for a while to make me wait for his decision.

“Thank us for being so nice to you today.”

That wasn´t bad. I actually felt it was the right thing to do after being stupid enough to piss off the young jocks.

“Okay. Thanks…” I started.

“On your knees,” JD said.

I gulped. The idea of kneeling in front of those handsome, arrogant boys was tempting. I could jack off to the memory of that for several weeks. But I had to play reluctant.

“Do I have to? That feels a bit...”

“Already forgot what Nash explained to you, Billy?” JD asked softly.

“No.”

“Then you know what to do. And after you thank us, kiss our feet.”

“Feet?”

“Yeah, you know, the two paddles attached to our legs. Both of them. Four altogether.”

Nash laughed at JD´s plan and leaned in to ruffle my hair.

“Come on, you can do it, Billy. Just thank us, kiss our feet and your little mistake is forgiven. Then we can be buddies, you and JD and I, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. Being buddies with Nash and JD would be awesome.

JD repeated the procedure.

“Now, get on your knees and thank us for being so nice to you today and kiss our feet.”

I sunk down on the floor on all fours and crawled in front of Nash´s spread feet. He was wearing well-worn white Nike crew socks, and to commit the humiliating act of kissing his feet I would have to remove the socks first.

I rolled the sock down his lean calf that had a nice layer of black hair. Then I took hold of the tongue of the sock and pulled it off.

I folded the fucked-up sock and placed it on the bench. After removing the remaining sock I crouched down and kissed the top of Nash´s foot while my two-guy audience watched with smirks on their faces.

“Thank you for being so nice to me today, Nash.”

He chuckled.

“Oh nooo, Billy. You barely touched my foot with your lips. I wanna see some passion and I wanna hear a good, old-fashioned smack! Try again and call me daddy!”

JD cracked up. ”Daddy Nash, hehehehe!”

I had to laugh at that too. The boys were using my submissiveness for their amusement, but it was all in good spirit, and my dick told me I didn´t want them to stop.

This time I licked my lips first and sucked in hard when I felt them touch his skin.

Smmmmmackk…bop!

“Yeaaa! That´s the way Billy!” The boys cheered.

I gave another wet kiss, a real French one, on his other foot, and said in a surprisingly strong voice:

“Thank you for being so nice to me today, daddy.”

Nash leaned down to ruffle my hair.

“Good boy, Billy.”

Then I crawled across the floor to JD. He was already barefoot, so all I had to do was kiss his tanned runner-feet and say the magic words again.

“Thank you for being so nice to me today, JD.”

“Attaboy,” he snickered.

Then he stuck his hand into his boxers and fished out my keys. He tossed them to me with a wink and said:

“I warmed them up for you real good.”

The keys really felt hot and moist from the heat of his genitals. I put them into the safety of my pocket and turned around to find my backpack I remembered placing somewhere between the benches, but Nash had already fetched it and held it out for me.

“Say hello to your grandpa from us, Billy. Hope he gets well soon. We´ll lock up here.”

I drove to my grandparents´ place with a smile on my face. Nash and JD were so cool, and although they had fucked me over real good, they did it with humor and style. That was something I couldn´t expect from Brett! I also felt ashamed for trying to boss around those popular and cool guys. I wasn’t gonna make such a mistake again.

I would´ve loved an opportunity to jack off, but I had barely enough time to pick up my grandpa and drive him to the doctor´s. Taking care of my boner would have to wait until the evening.

* * * *

I sat in the waiting room with my grandpa who was dousing in his seat. I tried not to think about the scene in the locker room, but my thoughts kept returning there, and when I closed my eyes I saw Nash´s smirking face. And the memory of my lips and tongue touching the silky skin of his foot was so fresh I imagined I could still taste his sweat in my mouth.

My cock was angry with me for being imprisoned inside my underwear despite the erection it had swollen into. It tried to break free through my shorts, and to my horror some precum had leaked through the tan fabric, forming an embarrassing and growing stain in my crotch in the middle of the crowded waiting room.

Trying to be as discreet and nonchalant as possible I picked up my backpack and placed it on my lap. Something blue poking out from under the flap caught my attention. I unfastened the flap and stared at a rolled-up blue shirt. In a flash I stuffed it back and scanned the room quickly: nobody seemed to have paid any attention to my findings.

I touched grandpa´s shoulder gently.

“I need to go to the bathroom, grandpa. Wait here, okay?”

“Huh? Sure, Billy.”

I rushed to the bathroom with my backpack, found a vacant stall and sat down on the toilet. Then I took out Nash´s gym shirt and pressed it on my face.

Giving his sweat-soaked shirt as a present to me was an act of ultimate humiliation of course. But when I hungrily sniffed that wet, ragged cotton garment, it represented everything I adored in Nash: it had absorbed his masculinity, superiority and that born arrogance that made my legs weak.

I closed my eyes and saw myself in the locker room, being scolded by him, listening to his long interrogation-cum-sermon, hanging my head in shame.

“Guys like JD and I don´t take orders from fags. Ever. You don´t give us orders. It´s the other way around. Understand?” I heard his voice inside my head.

“Yes Sirrr…” The shirt muffled my moan as I shot a huge load of cum into a wad of toilet paper.

After what happened at the gym and at the locker room I couldn´t get Nash out of my mind. I had trouble focusing on anything. If I tried to play a video game or read something, my thoughts would sooner or later wander to that stunning youngster. Younger than me, but already such a man, still a babyface teen, but nonetheless someone whose guidance I took without second thoughts. I kept thinking how remorseful he had made me feel when he scolded me like a disobedient little boy.

Two days after the encounter at the gym I was laying in my bed, waiting for sleep to come, when my phone beeped for an incoming message. I checked it out and was instantly fully awake. It was from Nash.

Nash: wud

Billy: chilling 😙

Nash: like my lil prez 🎁

Billy: ummm… yea 😳

Nash: jacked off with it already? 😁😁

Billy: nooo  😬

Nash: hahahaha I knew u would!!! LOL

Nash: bad boy billy 😖

Nash: wanna hang tmr? 😎

Billy: yea sure 😀😀😀

Nash: get back 2 u 😉

I felt so elated I couldn´t catch sleep. I took Nash´s gym shirt from its hide and breathed in his odor. I would be hanging out with him tomorrow. That was gonna be so cool! I wished Brett could see me having a great time with Nash. Maybe he would start appreciating my friendship even a little?

The next day was Friday. Nash hadn´t told me what time we would meet, so I got up early to be ready in case he´d hit me up, freshly showered and wearing my coolest (not that cool according to other kids) outfit.

The hours were long with no sign of him. I considered texting him but I dumped the idea. Nash said he´d get back to me and I didn´t want to seem impatient. He would hit me up when it suited him and that would be good enough for me.

At four fifteen an incoming message. I was disappointed. It was from Brett.

Brett: gas st @ 5

I ignored the message.

Ten minutes later another one.

Brett: ?????

I ignored that one too.

Five minutes later:

Brett: wtf???!!! 👿👿👿

This time I replied.

Billy: busy 😆

At six thirty I finally got the text I had been waiting for all day.

Nash: know cotton bay marina 🕵️‍♂️

Billy: yeah

Nash: 8 sharp!!! 👌

I was puzzled. I knew Nash worked at the reception of the marina. But it was twenty miles away and there was nothing close by. Why would we be hanging out there? Well, I trusted he had something fun planned for us.

The place was deserted save Nash´s truck parked in front of the building that served both as the reception and warehouse for the marina. The blinds of the office were shut, but I saw the lights were on inside, so I pressed the button by the front door. After a few seconds I was buzzed in, and I entered a hallway and walked over to the office. The door was ajar, so I knocked on it and stepped in.

Nash was sitting in the office chair, with his white hi-top Jordans propped on the desk. He looked like a million bucks as always. A white Tommy hoodie over a black tank top and ripped jeans. He hadn´t bothered to hide the 40” screen on the desk. A blond girl was giving head to a young guy with a ripped body and a huge cock.

He greeted me with a grin.

“Billleeee, my man! Come on in,” he said.

There was another chair but there was reel of oily rope on it, so I remained standing, waiting for something to happen while Nash was still focusing on the video on his screen.

The blowjob scene seemed to really turn him on.

“Yeaaaah, let her have it! See how he fucks her face, man! Fucking whore gets what was coming to her!” He explained excitedly, rubbing his crotch unashamedly.

“She sure does,” I tried vaguely to take part in his excitement.

The cameraman zoomed in really close to the girl´s face. She had tears in her eyes but she tried her best to take as much of the stud´s cock in her mouth as possible. Precum and spit were running down the poor girl´s chin.

“She looks a bit like you, Billy, hehehe!”

I didn´t know what to say, but Nash kept talking.

“Waddya think, could you fit that fucker in your mouth?”

“Dunno.”

“Don´t know? Maybe you should try, hehehe!”

I felt awkward. This wasn´t what I had expected from hanging out with Nash.

“So, what are we gonna do tonight? Where are we going?” I asked.

“Going?”

“Yeah, I thought we were going to hang out.”

He snickered and swung his leg on the armrest of his chair.

“You wanna hang out, Billy? Why don´t you check out what´s hanging down here,” he said and rubbed his crotch. His hard cock was clearly outlined through the thin-worn denim.

“Is that why you wanted me here?” I asked.

Instead or replying he got up, stepped in front of me and asked casually:

“Are you clean?”

“What?”

“Any fag diseases? Syphilis, Aids or shit?” I felt his spit dribble on my face from all the sibilants packed into one sentence.

“No!” I snapped, feeling disappointed and insulted.

“How many guys have you had sex with lately?”

He questioned me just like he had done in the locker room, but this time the mischievous tone was gone.

“One.”

“What did you do with him?”

“I sucked him off.”

“Is the other fag clean too?”

Brett wouldn´t like to hear himself being called ‘the other fag’ I thought to myself.

“Yeah,” I said, not actually knowing if it was true or not.

Nash grunted, took off his hoodie and hung it carefully on the back rest of his chair. Then he pulled off his tank top and tossed it on the table like a guy who is never shy of showing off his body. Then he turned to me again and moved right in front of me. I was staring at his flat underbelly and the waistband of his white Tommy underwear that matched perfectly with his hoodie.

“Go on, cocksucker. You know what to do,” he said nonchalantly.

This was something I had been dreaming of for the last few weeks, yet I felt awkward when I kneeled down on the floor and unzipped his jeans. I had seen his bulge already in the locker room but seeing it this close made it clear that this youngster owned a man-sized dick. It was stretching the front of his pearl-white trunks. A grayish stain on the cotton over the crown demonstrated that the porn he had been watching had already warmed him up.

“Say hello to Big Nash. Show him some respect.”

“Hello Big Nash,” I said and kissed his dick through his underwear.

“Ever seen a cannon like this?”

“I don´t think so,” I said truthfully.

“I want you to make Big Nash happy. He´ll be happy when he unloads a three-day load of my cum down your homosexual throat. I´m gonna let you have some good ol´ sticky jock-cum. And you´re gonna swallow every fucking drop and then you´ll fucking thank me for it. Understand, faggot?”

“Yes… Sir.”

“Good. Now get it out and start pleasing me, fucking pussyboy homo.”

Easing the jeans down his 29” waist was easy. Then I pulled down his boxers and stared at my new acquaintance, Big Nash. The thick tube seemed to be about eight inch long, and it wasn´t even fully hard yet. I´d have to use every trick in my cocksucker toolbox to please that cock the way Nash wanted.

I ran my lips and tongue up and down on the shaft and the organ swelled rapidly into all its might. When it pointed straight up, I took hold of it and aimed it at my open mouth. Nash looked with a nasty sneer as I tried to take in as much as possible but had to stop at an inch before the root.

“I´ll feed you the rest, don´t worry,” he snickered, grabbed the back of my head and pushed his cock all the way in. I coughed and gurgled in panic but he held my head tight until my nose was buried in his pubes.

He pulled back to let me breath for a second before thrusting in again, this time with force. His cock was already somewhat lubed with my spit and his precum, so this time I managed to take it without panicking, and he started to fuck my face rhythmically.

I wrapped my fingers around his waist to have some control on his thrusts. His body was so slim I could easily hold my thumb on his belly and my other fingers on his back. And when I moved my hand down I could feel his butt muscles flex as he fucked my face rhythmically; his buttocks felt like warm cantaloupe halves coated with the softest velvet.

Then moved my left hand on his lower abdomen, my fingers brushing his silky pubes, and higher, over his navel and a few inches higher until my palm was caressing his flat, hard stomach.

At that point he wrenched my hand away violently and smacked me on the side of my head. With my mouth filled with his cock, I could only let out a powerless squeal from pain and surprise.

“Keep your hands to yourself, faggot,” he panted and I lowered them into my lap.

After a few minutes of face-fucking his thrusts became stronger and stronger and I knew he was close.

A sudden flash of car headlights in the window startled me. I pulled off his cock and said:

“Somebody´s coming!”

He grabbed my hair, pulled my mouth back on his cock and grunted:

“Finish me.”

I wrapped my lips around his cock as tight as possible and I felt his precum and my spit run down my chin and neck until the slime dribbled on my shirt.

The sound of the doorbell didn´t stop Nash from pleasuring himself, he just reached out to press a button on the desk. After few more violent thrusts he tiptoed and unloaded the content of his teen balls into his cocksucker´s mouth.

“Ngghhhh!”

After getting his rocks off he placed his palm on my forehead and pushed me off his cock to enjoy the sight of me struggling with the copious load of juvenile sperm he had filled my mouth with. He smiled as he saw me trying desperately to swallow every drop as he had ordered.

I coughed a few times but managed to swallow down all the warm, bittersweet slime. Then I wiped my lips with my arm.

“Thanks.”

“Hahahaha, you´re welcome, faggot.”

“You done with him, bro?” JD´s voice asked from behind me.

“Yeah. Dumped my load into his ugly face. Wanna use him too?”

JD´s face looked down at me with a grimace.

“Fuck, that´s gross. No thanks, I got lucky with Adriana last night.”

“You did? Awesome, bro. Was she good?” Nash asked, zipping up his jeans.

“Not slutty enough for my taste, but she´s got great pussy muscles and she knows how to use them. As a bitch, I´d give her an eight. Maybe eight plus.”

“Sounds like she might be worth of my attention. Add your review to our database, willya.”

“Consider it done.”

Nash grabbed the neck of my hoodie.

“Get up, homo.”

I got up clumsily.

“Spread your arms.”

I was still dazed from the rough ride and raised my arms a little.

Without a word he started to search through my pockets. I took a step back and covered the pockets with my hands.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I asked angrily.

“JD,” Nash said nonchalantly.

JD grabbed my arms from behind and held me in place while Nash went through my pockets. He found my meager wallet from the side pocket of my jeans and placed it on the counter, but he kept searching meticulously until he was satisfied there was nothing more to find.

He picked up the wallet and flipped through the tabs, pulling out two ten-buck and two one-buck notes.

He frowned.

“This is all you got, faggot?”

“Yeah.”

He waved the bills in front of my eyes.

“This is fucking chickenshit, dude. I throw away this much any given day without noticing.”

I felt annoyed enough to say:

“Oh yeah? And still you need to steal that chickens…”

The slap he delivered across my face was fast as a lightning and so hard it brought tears in my eyes.

“Watch your mouth, faggot. You owe us 28 bucks.”

“What? Why? For what?”.

“You´re 28 bucks short of your fag tax.”

“Fag tax? What´s that?”

“It´s a tax for fags. Collected by us.”

“What makes you think I´d want to pay you anything?”

Nash smirked.

“Show him, JD.”

After a minute of preparations JD showed me a video clip on his iPhone. It was a crystal-clear HD clip of me on my knees at a young guy´s feet. I removed the dude´s socks and crouched down almost to the floor tiles. The camera zoomed into a very close view of my face. The view was so sharp it showed every little zit on my face and the small scab on my lower lip.

Then I kissed the boy´s bare foot. I looked up to the unknown teen and smiled. Then I crouched down again: the clip had been cut so that it looked like I felt an urge to kiss the boy´s foot again.

This time I licked my lips first. Before my lips touched the skin the tip of my tongue made an appearance on the video too by licking the anonymous teen´s foot.

Smmmmmackk…bop!

And voices cheered to my performance.

“Yeaaahhh! That´s the way Billy!”

Then I said with a strong and sincere voice:

“Thank you for being so nice to me today, daddy.”

A hand appeared on the screen to ruffle my hair.

“Good boy, Billy.”

Nash´s voice had been transformed so heavily that he sounded like Darth Vader.

The clip ended and Nash took over again.

“You´ll bring us 28 bucks on Friday, same time, same place. Not a cent less. If you don´t show up, this clip will go viral. You´ll become world-famous, name and all. I promise you at least a million views by the end of the week in the US alone. Got it, homo?”

“Y.. yeah. And then you´re gonna let me off the hook, right?”

Nash chuckled, shaking his head as in disbelief of my stupidity.

“Wrong. The fifty bucks is your weekly fag tax. You pay the same amount the following Friday and the Friday after that. That´s to begin with, until you figure out means to make more money for us. We got expensive tastes.”

Two hundred bucks a month! They were going to take all the money I made by mowing lawn and shoveling snow in our neighborhood, and that was just the start. I would have to give up my car. I was doomed!

I tried to stay calm in front of these junior thugs, but I couldn´t hold back a sob.

“Please guys… please don´t do this to me.” I pleaded.

Seeing me cry brought a shit-eating grin on Nash´s face.

“Awww look at that JD, the pussy is crying now. He hopes we´ll feel sorry for him.”

JD snickered.

“Keep on dreaming, fag.”

Nash leaned real close to my face with that super-annoying sneer of his and said:

“We love to make pussy-boys cry, Billy. In junior high that’s pretty much all we did, every fucking recess. Never got tired of it, did we, JD?”

“Amen, bro.”

Nash shoved me in the chest and said:

“Now pick up your trailer-trash wallet and get the fuck outta here, faggot. Friday at eight.”

I don´t know how I managed to drive home without drifting off the road or hitting something. My mind was dazed and my eyes foggy. What an idiot I had been, falling hopelessly in love with that young heartthrob like a pre-teen girl. And he had turned out to be an evil bully who would blackmail a broke-ass gay teen to his last penny with no trouble to his conscience.

What could I do? Tell my parents? My well-meaning bio-ecologist dad would march me to the police station. There I would have to tell them about falling in love with another boy and appearing on a video clip kissing his feet and calling him daddy. The clip would be all over the internet, and it would disgust people from Florida to the North Pole.

I could kill the bastards, though I had no idea how. And I didn´t have the heart and guts to do it, I had to admit to myself.

I had only one person to turn to, and he´d probably tell me to fuck off. I had ignored his advice to steer clear from those two brats and I had disrespected and overlooked him in my crazy love.

But I had to try.

I texted Brett on snap, whatsapp, insta and on all the other possible platforms I knew he was using. He didn´t reply.

I was desperate. Finally I resorted to an ancient communication method some old people still used. I sent him a text message:

`im in deep shit and have to kill myself love billy´

Two minutes later my phone buzzed.

I picked the call.

“Yo.”

“If you kill yourself, I´ll kick your ass so bad you won´t be walking or taking a shit for a fucking month, you hear me, moron!” Brett´s angry voice roared into my ear.

“I have to. I´m doomed.”

A long sigh from the other end.

“It can´t be that bad. Tell me.”

I started to sob. I hated myself for being such a crybaby, but I couldn´t help it. Brett didn´t like that at all.

“Awww, fuck. Come on Billy, man the fuck up and tell me what´s going on!” He growled.

I gathered myself as best I could and told him the entire story, leaving out only the part where I gave head to Nash. How I had acted like an idiot, fell in love with that pretty young jock, made a fool of myself in the locker room, let them lure me to kissing their feet on video. I told Brett how they roughed me up at the marina and how they were going to blackmail me forever with the clip.

“That´s bad,” Brett admitted when I was done with my story.

He was silent for a long time.

“Look, I´ll see what I can do. Maybe they´ll agree to reduce your fag tax a little or something, maybe not. Don´t keep your hopes too high, you hear me. And meanwhile, don´t fucking try to kill yourself. You´d probably fuck that up too anyway. Okay?”

“Okay.”

I was about to hang up when he said:

“Oh yeah, and which one of them smacked you?”

“Nash.”

He hung up.

Brett´s businesslike approach to my problem didn´t bring me much hope, but telling someone about my agony was a relief in any case. At least I was able to catch a little sleep, even if it was restless and interrupted regularly by varying gloomy visions of my future.

My phone woke me up from my stupor. An incoming phone call from an unknown number. I checked the time: 10:20 AM.

I picked up the phone.

“Hullo.” I groaned.

“Billy?”

“Who´s this?”

A pause.

“Nash.”

So, Brett hadn´t succeeded in persuading the guys and now they were coming after me. I hoped Brett was all right.

“Waddya want?”

“We need to talk. Can you meet us at the marina?”

I was immediately alert.

“So you can beat the shit out of me? No.”

“Look man, we´re not gonna hurt you. Just wanna talk. We can meet anywhere you want.”

I thought for a few seconds.

“I live in Levington. You know Wellington skate park on York Street?”

“We´ll find it. Noon?”

“Okay.”

I walked to the park a fifteen minutes early to scan the environment for possible escape routes I could use if necessary. Then I waited on a bench as close to other people as possible.

A few minutes to twelve Nash and JD showed up. I watched as the duo walked towards me across the lawn.

There was something peculiar in the way they approached me. It took a while before it dawned on me: the jock swag was gone. They seemed apprehensive and when they came closer, I saw why.

Nash didn´t look as beautiful as usual. He had a purple shiner under his left eye and the eye was swollen. JD didn´t look that bad, but he didn´t look his best either. The left side of his face was red and swollen, as if a powerful hand had delivered a hard slap across it.

I remained seated as the boys stopped in front of me. I felt confident enough to begin with an attack.

“You wanted to talk. Now talk.”

They looked at each other, then Nash said:

“We thought about things, and we understood that the shit we did to you yesterday and the other day before that was fucking wrong. We came to… to apologize.”

“Oh? How about you JD, you wanna apologize to me too?”

“Yeah. I´m sorry Billy.”

“Not so fucking hilarious anymore to make a sissy-boy cry, is that the case?”

“Yeah. And we wanna give you this,” Nash said and took a one-hundred-dollar bill from the back pocket of his jeans, offering it to me.

“What´s that?”

“It´s the money we took from you and some more to cover your… trouble.”

“Like a fucking tip? Fuck you, assholes. Gimme the twenty-two bucks you robbed from me and stick that hundred up your mommy´s ass.”

Nash looked at me like he wanted to beat me to a pulp right there, but he stuffed the bill back into his pocket. The boys dug out their wallets and managed to produce the necessary bills.

I took the money. Then I remembered something.

“And what about the clip you were gonna blackmail me with?”

JD changed his weight from a foot to another.

“It´s gone. For good. No copies left.”

“You expect me to believe that? Got a copy hidden somewhere, don´t you?”

Nash sighed.

“Dude, we don´t have any death wishes. No copies left.”

He looked so beaten that I believed him. And I took advantage of their sorry state by showing them their place, to use their own term.

“Now get the fuck outta my neighborhood. These hoods are for decent people only, scumbags like you are not welcome here.”

The boys left without a word. I watched their bubble buttocks sway in their pants until they jumped into their car and took off.

I felt victorious and dead-tired. Back in my room I threw myself on my bed and closed my eyes. I knew I owed a huge debt to Brett, but I knew he would be sulking at me for dissing him and being disloyal.

I fell into deep, healing sleep and woke up three hours later feeling reborn. I washed my face with cold water to wake up my brain cells and checked my messages. As you know, I wasn´t the most popular kid in town, but there were usually a handful of texts to keep me up to date on the latest gossip.

To my surprise there were more than twenty messages, many of them from kids I hardly knew. And all of them were about one single topic: the bombshell news of the day. I read the first message and gasped. A link to the local news media was included and when I opened it I had to sit down.

HS Football Star Arrested for Drugs, DUI

A state police patrol pulled over a 2022 Camaro on Wellington Causeway on early Sunday morning following a tip from an anonymous citizen. According to the police, the driver, Josh W. Everett, 18, captain of the Sacred Cross high school´s football team, the Wildcats, failed a sobriety test and appeared to be intoxicated. The troopers then searched Mr. Everett´s vehicle and found a plastic bag hidden under a seat. The bag contained several grams of a substance the police now assume to be cocaine.

According to the officers, Mr. Everett, when escorted to the cruiser, told them that his father, Wolf D. Everton, owner of Everett Shipping and Logistics Inc, would pay them USD 5 000 each in cash if they would drop the case on the spot and let him go home. His offer was recorded on a trooper´s body camera.

Mr. Everett is being held in custody at the local detention center and expected to appear in court on Monday morning.

* * * *

The news developed during the day. After hours of painful silence the Wildcats finally published a press release. Josh had been “released” from the team for “apparently failing to fully follow the notoriously high moral and ethical principles of the Wildcats”. Vice-captain Brett C. Novak, currently playing starting running back, was appointed as the new captain. He was also expected to take over Everett´s place as quarterback.

Brett was now on his way to fame and fortune. The bandwagon effect of celebrity would bring him more fans and well-wishers than he could handle, and pretty girls would stand in line to offer themselves to the handsome new captain. Would he even remember little Billy? Probably not, but I had to at least thank him for saving my life.

I texted him my congratulations and received an automatic thank-you message. I didn´t try to approach him on other channels knowing it would be fruitless. I decided to do what I wasn´t supposed to do: knock on his door.

I hesitated a moment before walking up the Novaks´ driveway. To my relief Brett´s Corvette was the only vehicle parked there, so his parents were probably at work as usual.

I walked around the house where Brett´s crib was located and found him working with the 50´s Dodge truck he had been restoring for more than a year. Only his legs were visible from under the car.

I crouched down and peeked under the trunk. Brett was struggling with a big wrench, trying to unfasten a bolt or something.

“Hi,” I said.

He didn´t reply. I took a deep breath and burst out:

“Brett, I came to thank you for saving my life. And to say how sorry I am for being disloyal to you. I regret that more than anything I´ve done in my life.”

Still no reply. He just cursed and twisted the wrench with all the strength he had in his powerful arms.

“Just tell me what I need to do to make it up to you. I´ll do anything,”

The wrench slipped and fell on the asphalt.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He cursed.

“Gimme a 3/8 driver socket,” he grunted.

I got up and searched his huge, well-organized toolbox and found what I thought was the right one. I handed it to him. He glanced at it and threw it back.

“I said 3/8! This is a fucking 3/4! Are you fucking blind, you moron!”

“I´m sorry.”

I handed him another socket which seemed to be the right one, as he went to work with it. After ten minutes of wrenching and cursing he managed to remove the part he wanted. He rolled back to the free world on his creeper with a rusty piece of pipe. He threw it on the lawn and got up with some difficulty. He grabbed an oily rag and wiped his hands. Then he took off his ragged t-shirt, threw it on the lawn and picked up a garden hose.

“Go get me a towel.”

I rushed up the outdoor stairs to his quarters, came back with a towel and watched as he crouched to rinse his hair and face with the hose. Then he stood up and shook his thick mop of black hair, sending a little rain of water around him and on me. Little rivulets of water ran down his tanned body, making him look just like the desirable young stud he was.

I handed him the towel and he dried his hair and face. Then he tossed the towel back to me and picked up his phone off a shelf on the wall and checked out his hair and face on the screen.

“I got an open position,” he said without turning to look at me.

“Oh? What´s that?” I asked.

“I need someone to do some shit for me, so I won´t need to do it myself,” he replied, inspecting a tiny spot on his chin.

I used the towel to wipe sweat and water off his neck and shoulders. I half expected him to tell me to stop, but he didn´t.

“To do what kinda shit?” I asked.

He took a bottle of water and slumped down in a wobbly old lounge chair, adjusting the back rest so he could see me without stretching his neck.

“Look. As the new captain I´ll have tons of responsibilities. Between games I need to keep discipline in the team and listen to the guys´ worries and do my best to help them. Then there´ll be interviews with the media and meetups with the sponsors and parents and fans. And fundraisers. And then there´s the whole fucking schoolwork. I won´t have any free time at all.”

“Wow! That sucks. Sounds like you´ll really need some help,” I said and kneeled down to pull off his rugged sneakers.

He took a sip of water and went on.

“You know how things work in our family. Fucking captain or no fucking captain, I still need to do my chores. You know, clean my fucking room and do my fucking laundry. If I don’t do it, I´ll have to live in a shithole and put dirty clothes on in the mornings.”

“We can´t let that happen,” I said and pulled off his socks.

“So, I need someone to do that shit for me, and anything else I need to be done while I get some rest. I might consider you for the job. Just might.”

I suppressed a smile, wondering how many other candidates he had for that not-so-appealing non-paid position.

“So, you need a bitch, right?”

He chuckled.

“If you wanna put it that way, yeah. And it needs to be confidential as fuck,” he added.

“Does confidential mean you won´t be humiliating the bitch publicly all the time?”

He frowned. Obviously that hadn´t crossed his mind. Then he sighed.

“Yeah, I guess it does. Wildcats´ notoriously high ethical principles and shit, you know. Especially after the mess Josh got himself into.”

“And treat your bitch like a fellow human being?

”I guess so. Yeah.”

“I´d say that sounds just like me. But how about your parents?”

“I already talked this over with them. One day I´ll be running the family business, you know. My folks think it´s good for me to learn how to make other people work for our benefit. And it doesn´t cost us a penny, that helped a lot.”

“Did you tell them about me, you know…”

“You being a homo? Yeah. Dad just laughed. Sounds like a fag´s work, he said.”

He drank some more water.

“There´s just one thing. Can I trust you? I mean really trust you? How can I be sure you won´t fall in love with the next pretty brat and rat out everything to the fucking media?”

I sighed.

“I think I´ve learned that lesson pretty good.”

“I sure hope you did. Because I can´t be saving your ass from trouble all the time. You gotta keep your act clean. You need to make sacrifices if you wanna work for me. Are you ready for that? I mean, really ready? Based on what I´ve seen in the last couple of weeks I´m not exactly impressed.”

Well I couldn´t blame him. But I was sure going to do my best to convince him. And fortunately I knew how to do it. He loved to be praised on his qualities as an alpha male.

I wiped his feet with the towel.

“The fact is, I´ve been wanting to serve you for a long time, Brett.”

He raised his head to look at me with a complacent little smirk.

“Oh yeah? Since when?”

I thought for a while before answering.

“Since September 16, 2019, about two PM.”

He looked amused.

“What the fuck happened then?”

I took my time to pick some lint from between his toes before answering.

“The locker room, remember? I forgot my bag and came back to get it. The locker room was packed; you were there and Skip, Jason, Freezy and Walters… and Cory, I think. And maybe twelve other guys.”

He smiled, like recalling a pleasant encounter from the past.

“Yeah, I remember. That was fun. But you seem to remember every fucking detail.”

I smiled to myself. Brett had this cute habit of biting his lower lip when he became aroused. I had his attention now, I just needed to nurse it.

“Haven´t forgot that one, Brett. You accused me of spilling your juice on the floor and on your foot. You blamed me for that, although everybody saw you do it yourself on purpose. All the guys were looking at you, waiting to see what you would do. You had their back and they looked up to you. You were the king of that room, man.”

He rubbed his stomach absentmindedly.

“Yeahh, that´s right. I owned that fucking locker room.”

“You told me to wipe the floor. I tried to argue back, but you grabbed my shirt and shook me and told me I wasn´t gonna leave without doing what you wanted,” I said, placing my hand on his hairy calf.

“Go on,” he said. His voice sounded even raspier than usual.

I looked up and met the gaze of his intense dark eyes.

“I looked at you from down there. I looked at those muscles of yours and the fucking fire in your eyes and I knew I´d have to do what you wanted.”

I leaned closer and squeezed his bicep.

“You had the power, man. You were the fucking alpha jock in the room, Brett, and I was just the sorry-ass sissy I am today. And sissies do what jocks want. We have to respect you to survive,” I said and caressed the bulging muscle.

I had his engine running now.

“Hell yeah. Jocks rule the schools in this country. That´s what Case told me when I was in kindergarten. I wanted to be a jock ever since.”

I started to rub his upper arm from the elbow all the way to the hot and hairy valley of his armpit.

“All the guys in that room were watching us. You were making me suffer and they wanted to see more. And you gave them what they wanted, man. Remember what you did next?”

“No.”

“You told me apologize for talking back to you.”

He snickered.

“I did that, hehehe? That was bad. Yeahhh, I remember now.”

I paused my story, picked up the towel and used it to wipe sweat off his chest, abs and lower abdomen. The I went on.

“Every guy in that locker room knew I didn´t really have anything to apologize for. But you knew I would do it anyway, didn´t you?”

“Yeah. I saw it in your eyes.”

“And I did. I told you I was sorry for talking back to you,” I said and wiped sweat off his armpits. The touch of soft cotton in his pits made him flinch a little.

“Then I had to use my own towel to wipe the orange juice off the floor and off your feet, Brett. How did that make you feel?” I asked.

“Watching you do it made me feel like fucking king of the world, man,” he sighed and rubbed the front of his cutoffs.

The denim had worn thin and pale from all the scratching and sweating and rubbing young guys´ jeans have to endure. There was a large rip near the crotch, and from my position I could catch a glimpse of the bulge in his white boxer trunks. I had been warming him up well. He had a raging hardon in his pants.

Suddenly he realized we were out in the open in their back yard. He sat up and looked around.

“Better go upstairs,” he groaned, and I followed him to his room.

He threw himself in a big recliner.

“Bring me a Zero.”

I went to the fridge, poured the soda into a glass with some ice and a straw. I sat down on the floor next to him and handed him the drink. Then I continued working on his ego.

“Remember how all the guys laughed and jeered at me, Brett? Can you imagine how humiliating that was?” I asked, placing my hand on his knee.

He slurped his drink and let out a huge burp.

“It must´ve been humiliating as fuck. You hated me, didn´t you?”

“Yeah, I did. The embarrassment was fucking awful and knowing the whole school would hear about it. But you know what?”

“What?”

“Obeying your orders didn´t make me feel bad.”

“It didn´t?”

I moved my hand higher on his bare leg until my fingers met the ragged denim of his pants.

“No. It felt like something I was supposed to do.”

“You got that right, Billy-boy.”

“Wanna know what I did when I got home?”

“I bet you cried your fucking eyes off.”

“I did that, yeah. Wanna know what I did after that?”

“How the fuck would I know. Tell me.”

“I jacked off, thinking of you.”

“Awww fuck, really?”

My hand sneaked further up his thigh until my fingers were inside the hole in his pants. I could feel the soft fabric of his underwear on my fingertips.

“Really. I looked at one of your Instagram photos and jacked off. And I knew I wanted to follow your orders and do whatever I can to make your life easier.”

“Holy fucking god, Billy. You still feel that way?”

“That´s what I was born to do,” I said and pushed my fingers inside his pants all the way to his bulge.

He gasped when he felt my fingers on his genitals. Then he asked:

“The boxers… my dirty boxers I gave you to break you in. Did you…?”

“I sniffed them every night until your scent was all gone. That took weeks. I still got them.”

“I wanna see you do it,” he moaned.

“Okay.” I said, pulled my hand back and unbuttoned his cutoffs. He raised his butt a little to let me pull them off. Then I leaned on his thighs and pressed my face on the front of his underwear. I took a deep, resounding breath through my nose, all the time looking him in the eyes. He had probably been wearing the same boxers from the day before, since the front had yellowish stains and they reeked like sweaty genitals, piss and hormones… the odor of a high school jock, Brett’s odor. I took another deep breath. My own dick was hard as a rock.

“Take´m off and sniff them,” he ordered.

I took hold of the waistband of his underwear and pulled them off. Then I pressed the white bundle on my face, sniffed it as loud as I could and used my free hand to jerk his cock. My hand got instantly lubed by the warm slime his dick was leaking profusely.

“You think I´m so fucking hot you wanna sniff my dirty boxers while I watch you do it?” His voice sounded like sandpaper.

“Yeah. Love the way your boxers smell. The smell of a real alpha.”

“Awww, that´s sick as fuck. Tell me more…” He moaned.

“Can´t thank you enough for letting a sissy like me sniff your boxers, Brett. I´ll never be a man like you, but I can taste your power,” I said and licked the inside of the pouch, looking him in the eyes.

That was more than he could handle in the state I had warmed him up into. He arched his back in the chair and I felt his cock pulse in that certain way that preceded an imminent cumshot. I dove down just in time to catch his load into my mouth.

I was able to feel and taste the results of my deliberate work. The load he fed me was bigger than ever, and when he was done he just lay back in the lounge chair, panting and sweating, his body limp and his cock slowly deflating against his washboard stomach.

Some of his cum had leaked on his pubes and the trail of black hair leading up to his navel. I used his boxers to clean that off.

“I´ll bring these back clean and ironed, okay?” I said, showing him his dirty, cum-stained boxers.

He gave me a vague smirk.

“You can keep them. Want my socks too? They´re yours.”

“Wow, thanks, man!”

“And by the way, you´re hired. You can start cleaning my suite right away.”

I smiled back.

“Thanks, Captain.”

Thanks for reading! Did you like the story, or maybe hated it? Please leave a comment below. And you can also send me an email: [email protected]